No Good
by Sergeant Conley
Summary: Based on the machinima series "Deus Ex Machina" by DigitalPh33r. Slightly altered continuity than the series's. As John Brent and Michael Jacobs continue their crusade against the corrupt Mayor Derek Owen, a new arrival to Salvation City will bring chaos.
1. A New Monster in Town

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.**

**Author's Note: I started this fanfic back in the summer of 2008, I believe. That's about a year gone by, and thanks to medical issues, a long period of disconnected internet, and of course writer's block, I've only gotten six chapters finished. Well, my latest bout of the Block is gone for this fic, so I'm gonna be back to work, but something's always bugged me about it: the first three chapters of this fic were posted before my good friend TheSpazzo became my beta reader. At this time, however, he's become too busy with Real Life issues to worry about my fanfics, something I completely understand, so I've gone hunting for a new beta.**

**The redoing of the first three chapters will be the first little run with my new beta, Myzak, who I'd like to thank for giving me a chance. Once the first three chapters are redone, Myzak and I'll get back to work on the main portion of "No Good", which I'll also be writing simultaneously with my Zelda fanfic "Liberty Rock", which helped destroy the writer's block as I'd hoped it would. With that, we're off.**

_Tough breaks in the neighborhood, a hard case who's up to no good._ –AC/DC, "Breaking the Rules" (_For Those About to Rock We Salute _You, 1981)

* * *

Salvation City was enjoying a quiet day, one where it's unbelievably high crime rate was somewhat manageable for the newly formed SCPD. The thirteen customers and seven employees of the First Regional Bank should have been expecting what happened, and some of them did to an extent. As the customers waited in three lines and were serviced by three of the seven employees (the other four were in the back offices), a man in modified green and black Civilian Issue Mark VI armor entered the front door, unnoticed by the sixteen other people in the lobby. He had a large duffel bag strapped over his shoulder, an M6G Magnum was resting on his armor's thigh magnet. His left hand gripped the strap of his bag while his right hand gripped the receiver of an M90A Shotgun between the pump and the trigger guard. Remaining unnoticed, the man slipped into the back offices. He soon returned, ushering the other four employees into the main lobby with his shotgun. A middle aged woman wearing the civilian armor turned to leave with her withdrawal when she saw the man's weapon. She inhaled to scream, but her breath was stolen as the man fired his shotgun into the roof. Some people yelped, most remained silent in shock.

"**Everybody on the floor, now,"** the man commanded. **"You three, hands up from behind the counters, and don't try to push that alarm button, or I'll know. In fact, don't even think about it or you'll die."** The thirteen customers immediately complied, dropping into sitting positions on the floor, their backs against a wall. Pushing the four office employees onto the floor next to the customers, the man walked up to the desk and placed his bag onto it. **"Fill it up with as many-" **he began, then cut himself off by raising his Magnum and shooting one of the cashiers in the head, causing several people to scream in horror. **"I said, don't even think about it,"** the man growled at the body before turning to the other two. **"Fill this bag up with as many UN Credits as it can hold. Now."** he said. One of them (a young man, though one wouldn't be able to tell on sight due to the civilian armor) took the bag and headed for the vault while the other stood in his or her spot and kept his or her arms in the air. It was a her.

"**Well, well, Janie Fuller. How're your kids doing?"** the robber asked. Janie couldn't explain, but there was something about his voice that was offsetting. Everyone noticed it. It wasn't some kind of voice masking provided by his armor, but it wasn't entirely natural either.

"You know me?" Janie asked in fear.

"**Now I do,"** the man said. **"I know every little thing about you."** He motioned her to come from behind the counter and join the others. She did so, whimpering in fear. The man then paced patiently before the "hostages", seemingly studying each one. They were all adults, save for one person who was the height of sixteen-year old, the voice whimpering and moaning from the helmet revealed it was a girl. Soon, the other employee came from the vault, holding the very stuffed and heavy duffel bag.

"**Thank you,"** the man said as he took the bag with his left hand, then used his right to raise his shotgun and fire it into the employee's chest, killing him instantly. As the hostages screamed in even more horror, the man put the bag on his shoulder, thus freeing his left hand, and pumped a new shell into the chamber. He then went down the line and shot three of the four employees, leaving only Janie and the manager alive of that group. **"You know something Gerald,"** the robber, who was no doubt a psychopath, addressed the manager, whose sobbing showed he obviously wasn't taking this situation very well.. **"You're a man of admirable attitude and stance on life. You're a model citizen in a city of filth and crime, a Good Samaritan amongst sinners. And well, you know what they say: no good deed goes unpunished."** With that, the psycho pushed the barrel of his shotgun into the manager's thigh and pulled the trigger, almost destroying the limb. **"Your punishment is bleeding to death from your femoral artery. Enjoy!"** the psycho said joyously, the voice was that of a cruel sick man enjoying a cruel sick joke. The customers and Janie could almost hear the smile in the man's voice, even over Gerald's screams of anguish and suffering.

The psycho dropped the empty shotgun, too impatient to reload it at the moment. He instead drew his Magnum and killed seven of the thirteen customers, each as they screamed and begged for mercy. He reloaded and killed five of the remaining six, leaving only Janie and the teenage unharmed. The girl was now bawling and screaming in fear beyond comprehension.

"**Oh, shush, shush,"** the psychopath said, kneeling before the girl. She stared into the thin, rim-topped visor of his helmet and could imagine the mirth, the sheer enjoyment of the occasion in his eyes. She never considered or imagined what else was in those yes. **"Look at the bright side of all this,"** the psycho said before pointing at her stomach with his left index finger. **"Denny ain't gonna find out about Junior until the coroner's done, hell he might not find out at all!"**

"H-how d-d-d-did you-" she stuttered, attempting to reply before he fired his Magnum through her visor and splattered everything in her skull on the wall behind her.

He then laughed the most horrible laugh Janie ever heard in her life. He stood and walked towards his shotgun, stopping to bend down and pick it up in his left hand in the same manner he'd held it when he entered. He began walking towards the door and then stopped as if to consider something. He turned around and fired the last round in his magazine into Gerald's shattered leg, causing more pain than before. It was a random, violent action done seemingly only for the hell of it. Placing the Magnum back on his thigh magnet, the psycho placed his empty shotgun on the magnets on the back of his armor. He walked up to a wall, reached into a side pocket of his bag, and retrieved a can of red spray paint. Whistling as he did so, the psycho marked a simple message on the wall.

_Just Have Fun_

"**No, Janie, I'm not going to kill you."** he said as he returned the can to his bag. **"I'll let you go, but only because there's more fun for you to have. You know those bruises on your daughter's back? Ask your fiancé about those. You guys can have a nice little chat about that. Afterwards, I'll stop by and pay you a visit. Bye!"** Waving, the psycho then turned, and walked off as if he were having a particularly fine day, which one could argue he was. He exited the door, and walked off, whistling and unnoticed by the pedestrians who'd grown rather accustomed to seeing modded armor in public.

And so, a new breed of monster was loose in the corrupted streets of Salvation City.


	2. Same Old Song and Dance

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

Night was quiet for a change in Salvation City, though sirens could still be heard in the distance, as usual. One place where it was not quiet, however, was a warehouse where several men in civilian armor were moving crates of enhancement drugs about in preparation for a sale. The leader of this rat pack stood on a balcony overseeing the preparations, an M6G Magnum on his thigh. His armor was silver and blue, rather than the usual green of the basic civilian armor. It was modded as well to give him extra strength, a common mod seen in Salvation City.

"How's everything going?" the man, Ricky Rose, asked his appointed right hand man, a two bit thief named Joanes. He had the job as he was Rose's only lackey who had anything higher than the education of a high school freshman.

"Right on schedule Boss," Joanes said.

"And our customer?"

"Still ready to buy,"

"How much money this time?"

"The most we've made since joining this operation."

"Too bad you'll never see it," said a new voice. Rose and Joanes turned around to see a man in steel colored armor resembling a suit of samurai armor. "Boo." the new arrival said before punching both men in the face. They fell over the railing and landed on a set of crates below, hurt but nowhere near dead.

"It's Deus Ex Machina!" someone shouted, his words quickly followed by the sounds of cocking firearms. Deus ran along the balcony towards an office as bullets began impacting around him. He dove into said office for cover before tossing an elongated, round object which bounced amongst the goons.

"Grenade!" one cried. Before anyone could react, the object exploded. It wasn't a fragmentation grenade, but a flashbang. All the goons were now blind and deafened, and would be for roughly fifteen seconds. By the time they could see again, five of the twelve goons were unconscious, and Deus was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd he go?" one goon asked in fear.

"Search the damn place!" Rose roared in fury as he regained his footing. "Find him, and kill him." he said. Reluctantly, the seven remaining goons did as such. Five of them made the mistake of searching by themselves. Two of them made the mistake of searching too close together. The unfortunate two heard something behind them, but couldn't turn before their heads were knocked together with enough force to render them unconscious. One by one, using the shadows as his allies, Deus took down the other five, leaving Rose and Joanes as the only remaining resisters. They stood back to back, sporadically aiming their Magnums at every shadow that seemed to move.

"You guys ready to give up yet?" Deus asked, seemingly appearing in arms reach from nowhere. Before either bad guy could react, Deus punched Joanes in the face, knocking him down. Rose brought his Magnum to bear and fired at Deus's chest, only for the round to be stopped by his energy shields. Deus grabbed the Magnum and twisted it out of Rose's hand. Rose responded by throwing a punch of his own, made all the more powerful by his armor mod, into Deus's face. While the shields stopped a bullet, they didn't stop a melee strike. Rose pounced, forcing Deus to the ground. Pinning him down, Rose began whaling on Deus's face with strong, furious blows. Deus, trying desperately to block the punches, thrust his leg up and kicked Rose in the back, flipping him over and off Deus. The two regained their footing at approximately the same time, but Deus had the faster strike, catching Rose in the jaw. He heard a metal scrapping on cement noise behind him and turned in time to see Joanes swinging a pipe towards his face. Deus ducked, giving the swinging pipe a clear shot at Rose. Joanes didn't have time to stop his swing before his boss was hit and put down for good. Before he could remount the offensive, Joanes was struck in the back of the neck by Deus, putting him into unconsciousness as well.

The cops, really just volunteer citizens trained in police procedures, eventually responded to the fired shots and found a total of fourteen wanted criminals tied up and regaining consciousness in a warehouse filled with illegal enhancement drugs. Their leader, Ricky Rose, was still unconscious when he was locked up in the Salvation City Police Station…again.

* * *

John Brent stood in the apartment he shared with Michael Jacobs, his fellow university graduate and best friend. They were situated in front of Mike's computer terminal, which was in the process of reviewing the warehouse take down.

"Very nice," Michael commented on a particularly well-placed punch. "Gotta say, though I'm not surprised Rose was back on the streets again."

"He'll be right back out again, too," John replied. "Unless Owen finally gets tired of him and just leaves him there to rot."

"Why does he keep getting him out, anyways?" Michael asked.

"I dunno, maybe he's running low on reliable goons. Ever since the police force got set up, it's been easier to keep criminals off the street."

"Still ain't enough, though," Mike sighed. "Alright, time for the fun stuff, I've got something for ya." He stood and entered his room, followed by John. On his workbench was an armor gauntlet, exactly like the one on Deus's suit. After a few minutes, Michael removed the right gauntlet on his own armor and replaced it with the Deus gauntlet.

"I've added a grappling line system to your gauntlets. All you do is aim, and press this button here." Michael said then demonstrated, firing a hook into the wall on the other side of the room. A cable ran from the gauntlet to the hook protruding from the wall.

"I'm not fixing that," John said. Michael ignored him and continued.

"The cable extends to over forty feet, and can be retracted with this button here. It also has a switch here that allows you to detach the section of cable not in the gauntlet." Michael did so, showing off a hook at the end of the cable. "The gauntlet adds it automatically, allowing you to knock it to something like a rail or tow hook. Thus it can become an anchor or a zip line."

"Very nice," John said. "But isn't it…you know…cliché?"

"What have we done that isn't?" Michael asked.

"Smartass," John grinned. "So, what other updates are there on Salvation's scum lists?"

"Derek Owen, aka Plague, is obviously still loose, along with a large number of goons in his little drug industry. Couple big names, but nothing else of much interest except for this guy." Michael explained, then returned to his terminal and pulled up a security camera showing footage of the robbery at the First Regional Bank.

"Him again?" John asked, aware of the string of robberies and homicides committed by this individual, who always left his message at every scene.

"Yep. Still no name or alias, though the police have officially designated him 'Cannonball',"

"'Cannonball'? Why the hell do they call him 'Cannonball'?"

"How the fuck should I know? Maybe it's a random case name generator." Michael replied. John simply watched the video as the man left the bank, as if he had no care in the world.

_That'll change when I get my hands on him._ John thought.


	3. Cannonball Run

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

Mayor Derrick Owen didn't need the fake politician's face he had under his helmet, but he used it anyway when dealing with political matters expected of the Mayor of Salvation City. The helmet of his armor, which was different from civilian armor in its brown color and shoulder plates at first glance, concealed his face. But he used it anyways, as it helped him "get into the act" of a caring politician doing his best for his city.

"Tell me Bob, how go things in the new SCPD?" he asked the man sitting in his office. The man in question wore the blue armor of an officer of the Salvation City Police Department. His name was Robert Blake, the appointed leader of the new volunteer police force, whose converted headquarters had originally been a major sporting goods store until its owner, in a twist of irony, was arrested for possession of stolen property.

"Well, Mr. Mayor," Blake started. "Our roster increase has been noticeable, though we still have nowhere near the amount required to effectively police the whole city. The crime rate's the lowest recorded since before the old police force got called off to the UNSC, but it's still nowhere near as good as it was back then."

"That's to be expected," Mayor Owen said.

"Mr. Mayor, if I may," Blake said. "There's a bit of an unfortunate issue I need to address."

"That being?"

"The SCPD needs more funding. The current budget gives each officer a suit of armor, a taser, and an M6G Magnum sidearm. All of our radios and transport are donated by our members who had them lying around. Quite frankly sir, we need a real communications system, and real police vehicles."

"What are you using now?"

"Hogs. Civilian knock-off of the M12 Warthog light recon jeep the UNSC uses."

"I'm aware what a Hog is." Owen stated blunty, a hint of aggravation in his voice.

"Of course," Blake said. "But sir, we _really_ need this budget increase if we're serious about this police force. Hell, we don't even get salaries and we're out on the streets trying to protect people so they don't have to risk their lives like we do. All we ask at the least is some decent equipment to work with." Mayor Owen nodded thoughtfully.

"I understand." he said. "You bring up a good point. I'll get right to work on it."

"…Th-Thank you sir." Blake said in honest surprise, though he did an excellent job of hiding it.

"I don't mean to sound rude Mr. Blake, but if you'll excuse me, I have an important meeting to attend." the mayor said as he stood.

"Of course sir, I won't hold you up," Blake replied as he held out his hand. Owen shook it, and the two exited the room and went their separate ways.

* * *

With a sigh, Owen took a seat at the round table in the middle of the room. All around this table sat the heads of the drug ring run by the good Mayor Owen, who had a darker side most obviously were unaware of.

"So…how bad was it?" Owen asked in reference to the big hit the SCPD had scored the night before.

"Grand total of fourteen men arrested, including the head of that particular unit, Richard Rosenstein." one man said. This caused the unsurprised mayor to sigh and shake his head, wondering how many times he'd gotten him out before. "All in all, the drugs seized resulted in a loss of 23 million credits."

"Shit," Owen growled. "Should I even ask who was responsible?"

No one could find the courage to respond. The ring had become quite familiar with the efforts of Deus Ex Machina to shut it down. In response, Owen had done some "politicking", and now Deus was seen as a dangerous vigilante who was more of a threat to a citizen than the drug using crazies were. The new SCPD had standing orders to arrest him on site, a fact which made Owen remember the earlier meeting.

"I had a meeting with Blake today," he said. "The police force needs more funding."

"Give it to 'em," someone said.

"What?" Owen asked in honest bewilderment.

"That rat you suggested I set up is fully operational. We now have an inside man to give us an advanced warning of several hours whenever a place is gonna be hit. You've refused so many budget increases that they might get suspicious soon. Now, they can get what they want, and we can still keep our business going."

"Alright then," Owen said. "But other than to avoid suspicion, why would I want the cops to have better equipment?"

"So they can catch that bastard," the man replied, pointing to a picture on a bulletin board on the wall. It was a photo of Deus Ex Machina, commonly used as a dartboard before these kinds of meeting commenced.

"**Ah, but why wait for them to do that when I could take care of it so easily?" **a new voice asked. The men at the table looked towards the door as a man in green and black modified armor entered. In his right hand was a knife he was toying with, it's sheath empty on his chest plate.

_Why didn't the guards stop him?_ Owen thought.

"**Because I killed them,"** the new arrival said. There was a quality to his voice that no one liked. A sort of tone that made them all feel uneasy when he spoke. He came to a stop behind the seat opposite from Owen, looking at the man occupying it.

"**Well hello, Frank Lister."** the new arrival said. **"Fancy seeing you here, I mean you **_**are**_** one of the city's upstanding helpers, head of the homeless shelter and all right? It's a really nice cover."**

"I'm sorry I, uh I don't know what you're talking about," Frank replied timidly. He was attempting to remain calm and honest, and he honestly wasn't doing too good a job of it. "I-I don't want any part in this, I'm being forced into-"

"**Ah, but that's what you want them to think, right? Truth is, you really enjoy the dirty stuff, it makes you feel big in your pants, like it does when you beat your wife. How's the baby doing, by the way? Oh that's right! There won't be one, because you hit her once too hard on top of those stairs. Boy what a messy tumble **_**that**_** was!"**

"H-H-How do you know all of this?" Frank asked, his voice barely audible. He had practically broken down with fear and shock.

"**That's my little secret, and I only want to share it with Mayor Owen here…or should I call you Plague?"** the new man said. Owen simply stared at him, thinking his options over. As he came to each one mentally, the new guy would shake his head and whisper some negative reply like **"No, no, no"** or **"Nuh huh"**. He finally came to his final choice, which the new guy slowly nodded at.

"Leave us," Owen said. "Now." The others hesitated before complying, standing and leaving the room. When the door closed behind the last man, the nameless individual spun Frank's chair around so its back was to Owen and straddled it, leaning forward so his arms were on its back rest. The chair itself was leaning on its back legs, allowing the man to rest his elbows on the table.

"So, who are you?" Mayor Owen asked. "And what do you want? Better yet, how do you know about me?"

"**My name's not important, but for some reason the cops call me 'Cannonball',"** the man apparently called Cannonball explained. When Owen arched an eyebrow behind his visor, Cannonball waved his hand in the air dismissively. **"I don't know, random case name generator. I'll get to how I know who you are later, right now I wanna focus on the most important topic of this little get together."**

"Which is?"

"**Deus Ex Machina,"** Again, Owen arched his eyebrow. **"I'm like you, a Johnny Lawbreaker looking out for his best interests, what he wants. For me that's fun. I have fun through pain, suffering, chaos, death, and I see Deus as the opportunity to have the best fun I've had in awhile.**

"Oh really?"

"**Yeah really. So, I'm here to offer my services to get him outta your hair. He'd be outta your way, I'd get to have my fun, everyone wins."**

"Why not just take care of him without my consent and save me the time of this meeting?"

"**Because your guys, incompetent and of no use as they are, will keep trying to get him under your orders. That could interfere with **_**my**_** chances at getting him, and one of them might even get lucky. That'd ruin it for me. All I need for you to do, is call off all orders for your men to kill him."**

"And why should I trust you over my men, Cannonball? What makes you so sure you can do what they can't?"

"**That brings me back to how I know who you are. You see, I can do things other people can't."**

"Such as?"

"**I can read minds,"** Cannonball said, aware of but choosing to ignore the mental snort of skepticism in Owen's mind. **"I can destroy those same minds from within, and I can even see the future."**

"I find that last one hard to believe." Owen said, although Cannonball knew it was only mostly true.

"**Alright then, turn on that TV,"** Cannonball said pointing to a small set on a stool in the corner of the room. **"You'll see an episode of that hospital show teenage girls can't stop bleeding from their twats about." **Owen sat for a moment, pondering whether he should or shouldn't do it. Cannonball nodded at the "should" part. Finally, Owen stood and walked over to the stool. He was reaching out his hand when Cannonball cried out and stopped him.

"**Wait!"** he shouted, startling the mayor. **"I got one even better for ya! Turn it on, go five channels up, and you'll catch the end of one of your catchy reelection adds."** Owen only stared at him for a moment before turning on the TV. Ignoring the fact that it was indeed showing that hospital show teenage girls couldn't stop bleeding from their twats about, he went up five channels.

"-mercial is brought to you by the Committee to Reelect Derrick Owen." said the voiceover as the image of the good mayor faded out. Owen stood there for a second before turning off the TV and retaking his seat.

_I'm sold,_ he thought.

"**Good,"** Cannonball said.

"Now, I only have one more question," Owen said.

_What do you want in return for this?_

"'Services' usually have a price, and I doubt you're the 'on the house' type."

"**Well, one of the main reasons I wanted to see you was to read your mind about your armor modifier, of whom some in the underworld have heard Plague brag about as being the best of the best. Since meeting you, I now know that he only takes clients on after they've been vouched for by a current client. All you gotta do is give me the green light for him, and everything'll be breezy and clean. No, I'm not gonna ask you to pay for it, I've been…saving up to pay for what I want myself." **He ignored Owen's thought of the recent bank robberies/homicides.

"You don't like your current mods?"

"**Oh, they're excellent, best damn underground modders I could find. But your guy's professional and, as you brag, the best of the best. He can make my suit even better."**

"So, you'll deliver Deus Ex Machina's head to me in exchange for a sample of my DNA to meet my armor modifier?"

"**Pretty much, yeah. Do we have a deal?" **Owen thought it over, Cannonball reading along and either nodding or shaking his head at some points. Finally, the mayor reached his answer.

_Yes._

"**Good,"** Cannonball said. **"Now, I'll go about my business, and soon, you can return to your pushin' ways without worry."** He stood, allowing the leaning chair to fall to the floor with a clatter before he turned and began walking toward the door. Reaching it, he froze as he reached out to grasp the handle. He stood still for a moment, then opened the door and side stepped. A man burst in with a knife. Cannonball, moving with a speed Owen had never seen, grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife with his left hand. With his right, he grabbed the back of the attacker's head, spun him around, and slammed his face into the wall hard enough to shatter his skull and kill him. Cannonball let the body fall to the floor and looked at it for a moment before turning his gaze to Owen.

"**You might wanna watch your back a bit closer,"** he said. **"One of your running opponents isn't afraid to play a little…dirty."** With that, he left.


	4. Strange Bedfellows

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

Robert Blake sat at one of the many lunch tables in the plaza under the tall structure of Wheel Tower, what was once a windmill that provided electricity for the city in older days. The mill now turned slowly for aesthetic reasons, as it no longer provided the city's power. It was, however, considered a significant structure in the city, and thus has become the city's excuse of a tourist attraction. If there were any "safe havens" from the crime in the city, it was the SCPD HQ and the Wheel Tower. In the plaza, several other citizens ate with their helmets off, enjoying the fresh air and the sunshine of this relatively beautiful day, while crime was rampant in other parts of the city. It was almost as if the plaza was its own little reality, one which was untouchable by the foul claws of Salvation's corruption. Blake couldn't explain it, no on could really, but he enjoyed it, as well as his tuna sandwich. It was nice to sit and relax given the stresses the job provided.

Blake had been chosen as the SCPD leader due to his service in the UNSC Army. Though he hadn't seen anywhere near as much action as the Marines, he'd been in one bad skirmish on an Inner Colony world. This, combined with his training in security forces (which are very similar to a police force) made him a perfect candidate to lead this volunteer outfit. He wasn't so sure at first if he should accept the job or not, having only been medically discharged for a few weeks. His decision was made for him when he saw a teenager mugged and stabbed on his doorstep. Despite the lack of any feeling in his shoulder and his hand inexplicably shaking occasionally, he'd accepted the job offer. At first he'd thought the force was a joke. The volunteers had no training whatsoever, the equipment sucked (the police armor was just civilian armor with a blue paint job, and there were no radios or vehicles), and they didn't even have a headquarters. The only upside was that every member got a Magnum. Blake had to train all of the volunteers how to properly use it, but thankfully they were good learners. The volunteer force's first arrest gave them their new HQ, a sporting goods store which had enough room for storing their equipment, a detaining area, and sleeping quarters for overnight shifters. With the use of Hogs and walkie-talkies the volunteers had laying around, the SCPD began patrolling the city, but it was never enough. In the past few months of its activity, the SCPD had successfully taken down seventeen drug running cells…ten of which had been unconscious, tied up, or both upon their arrival. Most of the police believed it was Deus Ex Machina, but the general view of him amongst the citizens was that Deus was a crazy vigilante who was too dangerous to the citizenry to be left alone. Though most of Blake's men didn't like it, their standing orders were to arrest Deus Ex Machina on site.

What he didn't know was that Deus was counting on just that…

Blake had just finished his sandwich and was donning his helmet when a paper airplane floated lazily onto his table. On each wing was written "To Robert Blake" in blue ink. Blake stared at it for a moment before cautiously picking it up, unfolding it, and reading the two word message within: _LOOK UP_.

Blake did just that and saw the Wheel Tower. There were several windows from which people could look out and see the city in a glorious view. Standing at one of those windows on the second floor, the only floor with windows that could open, was Deus Ex Machina. At first, Blake was frozen. Then he burst into action, sprinting into the Wheel Tower's front door. People turned to his direction in confusion as he ran past them holding up his badge.

"Salvation Police! Move, move!" he shouted as he ran for the stairway. Sprinting up them three steps at a time, Blake reached the second floor and saw a piece of paper taped to a window. An arrow was drawn on it pointing up in blue ink, matching the paper airplane. Blake glanced up, and began running up more stairs, careful to pace himself. He'd be tired, considering the tower's height, but he had to move fast. Deus was probably running too, so he should be just as tired. If it became a fight, it'd be a fair one. Blake then remembered the armor mods Deus had, but was too committed to the chase to worry about it. Eventually he reached an observation floor close to the roof. It was empty, and as he neared the door to the next stairway, he saw it was closed. On the door was taped a piece of paper with a single word in blue ink written on it: _STOP_.

Blake turned around with his Magnum drawn, knowing Deus Ex Machina was here somewhere. He'd just completed his 180 degree turn when his Magnum was grasped by a steel gloved hand that twisted the gun out of his hand. Blake then found himself in a headlock, his own arm wrapped around his neck for additional leverage. He struggled for a few minutes, then the run up the stairs caught up with him, and he ceased from fatigue.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Blake heard the vigilante say right behind his ear. "All I want is a civilized conversation, Mr. Blake."

"Civilized, huh?" Blake asked, his voice weak from fatigue and the headlock. "Can't be too civilized of a chat if it involves wrestling holds." Suddenly Deus released his hold, causing Blake to fall to the floor. He coughed from the sudden rush of oxygen, then turned to the vigilante who now held his sidearm. One thing Blake noticed was that Deus wasn't holding the gun as if he meant to use it. It seemed he simply didn't want Blake going for it. It seemed he now had no choice but to talk. "Alright, what do you want?"

"I'm willing to bet my freedom you've got orders to arrest me at the first chance you get." Deus said.

"That'd be a bet you'd win." Blake said, rising to his feet. He didn't like being on the floor with Deus holding the high ground.

"I'd also bet those orders come straight from Mayor Derrick Owen."

"Again, you'd win that bet."

"What if I told you I knew who the leader of the drug ring pushing the enhancement steroids throughout the city is?"

"I'd think you were just trying to get out of having the cops chasing you all the time."

"And if I had proof?" This made Blake hesitate and think.

"I'd lock you up as ordered and use the proof to take him down." he finally replied.

"What if I told you it was Derrick Owen?" Deus asked.

"Then I'd know you were crazy and just take you down." Blake answered immediately.

"And if I had proof?"

"Oh what proof would there be?" Blake asked, his voice practically screaming his disbelief. Deus's reply was to throw a folder onto the floor. It slid to a stop at Blake's feet, and at first he could only stare at it. Looking to Deus, he then knelt and picked up the folder. Opening it, he read through various handwritten notes and pictures. They showed Derrick Owen in his trademark brown armor with various other people in non-standard armor. Blake knew the wearer of every suit by memory. Every one was a major suspect in the drug ring. Some pictures even showed Owen and the suspects inspecting various drug caches. Flipping through more pages, he found a set of vid-disks tapped to the inside of the folder.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Deus said, watching Blake examine the folder's contents and trying to picture the look on the cop's face. "Become the mayor and he can make sure his business flourishes. Then I show up and begin messing with his ring, he makes me out to be a psycho. The cops show up, and he begins limiting their resources. Before you say it, I know about the new budget increase. But what you don't know about is the rat he just got set up in your outfit."

"Now that's bullshit." Blake said, looking up from the folder.

"Proof's in the last vid-disk. It's a recorded vid-phone conversation between one of Owen's head goons and one of your guys. I don't know who it is, they don't use names." Blake took this in and shook his head.

"We'll take the rat down." Blake said.

"No." Deus said.

"No? What d you mean 'no'? With a rat in the force, we'll never get any busts through, he'd just warn them in advance!"

"Not if you feed them false information." Deus said. "Use him to your advantage."

"How do I know this stuff's legit?" Blake asked holding up the folder, his voice that of a man who's just found new hope. "How do I know you didn't doctor it? Hell maybe you do all the voices in the videos!"

"Tail him." Deus said simply. "That's all I ask. It doesn't take many resources to have a guy or two follow him around, see who he interacts with."

"And what if you're wrong?" Blake asked.

"I'll turn myself in." Deus said. Blake noticed his voice was that of a man who knew he was as right as if he'd said the sky was blue.

"…Alright. Deal." Blake said. Deus tossed the Magnum to him, and Blake caught it in his hand.

"Next time, Blake, use the elevator." Deus said before walking out the door. Blake at first could only stand there…then he holstered his side arm and headed to the elevator. He needed a Tylenol...or a beer.


	5. The Hardcase

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham.** **Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

A day had passed since Deus Ex Machina had formed an uneasy alliance with Robert Blake, the leader of the volunteer Salvation City Police Department. Already he was beginning to question the decision.

"Are you sure we can trust him, Mike?" John Brent asked, his armor in civilian mode. He still stuck out like a sore thumb in a crowd, however, as his armor's color was a lighter shade of blue than the police's.

"Hopefully," Michael Jacobs replied through his comm. "I've gone over his records. He's turned in every important person who's offered him a bribe, even as high as the city treasurer." This made Brent remember the scandal that had blared through the news not too long ago.

"That was him?" John asked as he passed a family on the sidewalk.

"Yep. He's also been respon-" Michael's voice cut out and was replaced with what sounded like someone crunching on potato chips.

"Mike? Mike, you there? I think your comm's messing up again." John said.

"-ammit, how long has this been going on?" Michael's voice came through after the crunching noise stopped.

"A few weeks. Why can't you get a new one, again?"

"Because all my money's been going into the Batcave, asshole," Michael replied, earning a smile from John.

"I appreciate that, but I'm sure-"

"John! Heads-up!" Michael exclaimed, cutting him off. "We've got a robbery in process about two blocks away, the police are already setting up outside."

"Alright, I'm on it," John said before ducking into an alley. Odd shifting metallic noises could be heard, and Deus Ex Machina emerged, making his way to the Esoteria Street Bank, the only one that was two blocks away from John's location. "What've we got? Crazy druggies?" he asked as he moved through the streets.

"No, it's one guy," Michael informed him. John could hear computer keys typing as Michael did his magic. "John, it's him."

* * *

Robert Blake's hand was shaking as he moved about the volunteer cops stationed with their vehicles in the planned formation before the bank. Though the shaking came and went at random since his injury, he noticed it came in tense moments predictably. This was the force's first hostage situation. All they'd done so far were drug busts and homicide clean ups. This was different. This time the stakes were higher. The 15 hostages' lives would continue or end depending on the decisions Robert Blake made here today. With that on his mind and shoulders, Blake approached the techie Anders.

"Alright, got a feed yet?" Blake asked.

"Yes sir, Camera 1 in the main lobby. Looks like he's gathered everyone there." Anders replied. On the screen Blake saw the man walking around with the hostages sitting on the floor against the walls, their hands bound. The hostage taker was wearing modified green and black armor that he knew by memory. In his hand was a Magnum.

"Cannonball." Blake muttered.

"We finally got this bastard." Rhodes, Blake's second in command, said beside him.

"Not yet," Blake said. "We still got the hostages to worry about. If we just go in they might get hurt, or worse. For now we negotiate to get as many out as possible, then storm if we absolutely have to."

"Uh, sir? That might not be possible anymore." Anders said, and Blake immediately saw why.

* * *

Deus Ex Machina had gotten in pretty easy. Everyone out front was so focused on the front wall door and windows they never saw him get onto the roof and into the stairway. He wasn't aware they were even there, for he never noticed the camera in the lobby that he now appeared on as he hid by the corner, out of view of the man called "Cannonball". Deus risked a peek around the corner and counted 15 hostages, all silent or weeping. From the muffled quality of the weeping, Deus gave a wild guess that they were gagged or taped silent. Cannonball was in front of a wall, his back to Deus, bobbing and dancing to music only he seemed to hear. He was painting his usual message on the wall and singing along to the song that wasn't there.

"**If I could stick my pen in my heart, and spill it all over the stage. Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya, would you think the boy is strange? Ain't he stra-ya-yange?"** As he finished his paint job, Cannonball turned to the corner immediately.

"**Hiya Johnny-boy!" **he called, his gaze aimed at the corner Deus had ducked back behind. **"Don't think I don't know you're there, come on down!"** he added, almost like a game-show host.

Deus stepped from the corner into view, panicking many of the hostages. Now there were two psychos here, how could it possibly get worse? John was the opposite, calm and cool. Even with the psycho using his name, Deus stock still and cool like a statue. Derrick Owen already knew his name, and figured it would've spread throughout the criminal underworld eventually.

"You seem to know who I am, but I don't have a clue who you are." Deus said, keeping his handgun ready.

"**We both know that's not entirely true, Johnny-boy,"** Cannonball said. **"But I'll humor ya. I'm a misbehaver causing mischief, a hard case who's up to no good…actually, I like that one,"** The madman then turned, retrieved his red spray paint can and added a signature to his message. Tossing the can into a corner, he turned back to Deus. **"You can call me 'the Hardcase'." **

"'The Hardcase'? What the hell kinda name is that?" Deus asked in an attempt to taunt the psycho.

"**Look who's talking, you didn't even come up with yours. Hell, the guy who did didn't even know what it meant, and it just happened to be a perfect fit?"** the Hardcase replied. This did make Deus frown in concern. No one knew how he'd gotten his moniker but him and-

"**Mikey! How's he doin' with the sidekick gig, huh? Must be annoying for him to do most of the work and get none of the credit, don't ya think?"** Again, Deus wasn't too worried. Like his identity, Michael's identity as his partner was also common knowledge to Owen. But his timing was starting to creep Deus out. It was almost as if he-

"**Were reading your mind or something? Nah, that's just crazy. Then again that's what they're saying about you so who knows?" **the Hardcase said, seemingly finishing John's thought.

"Alright that's starting to get annoying." Deus growled. "If you don't cut it out I'm gonna-"

"**Kick my ass? Please, this coming from the guy who chucked in his helmet the first time he saw a headless corpse. You've got no idea how bad I can make things, Johnny-boy."**

Now _that_ worried Deus. Nobody but Michael knew of how he'd reacted to seeing one of the Decapitator's victims, and the message written just for him in the victim's coagulating blood. He hadn't gotten the smell of vomit and bile out of his suit for weeks. He could almost smell a phantom aroma of the spew just thinking about it.

"Alright fine, I don't have to kick your ass, I could just-"

"**Shoot me?"**

_Alright, now that's just-_

"**Pissing you off? That's what makes it so fun Johnny-boy!" **the Hardcase said interrupting Deus's thoughts. Deus didn't even bother saying anything this time, he just raised his Magnum and was in the process of aiming it when the Hardcase whipped up a hostage and held him as a shield, using speed Deus knew was only possible through armor modification.

"Seems someone's lost their balls." Deus said, taunting him once again.

"**Seems someone's really into the idea of getting folks killed."** the Hardcase retorted. **"Here, on three, I'll drop the meat bag, you drop the gun, deal?"**

"Bullshit," Deus said. "You're just getting my guard down, you're not gonna do a damn thing."

"**Well, I don't got a gun,"** the Hardcase said before tossing his own Magnum into a corner. **"I can't possibly do anything to you from this range now, and besides: Scout's Honor!"** he added before showing the Boy Scout Salute over the whimpering meatshield's shoulder.

Deus considered his options. By tossing his weapon away, the nut job effectively eliminated any chance of getting Deus at long range. He then remembered the knife the nutcase had been carrying in the surveillance video, but didn't think it was a throwing type. Sure he couldn't be harmed at that ranged, Deus dropped his own Magnum. Surprisingly, the Hardcase kept his word and threw the hostage aside, leaving the two standing alone as if in a Western standoff.

Blake and his men watched as the standoff began.

"Should we storm the place and get them both sir? It's two birds with one stone." Anders said with dreams of promotion and reward in his eyes. Before Blake could answer, Deus lunged at Cannonball.

Deus threw his fist towards the Hardcase's face, anger fueling his strike. The cops hadn't heard due to lack of audio in the cameras, but what the Hardcase had just said had sent John Brent into a rage. Michael Jacobs, watching through John's helmet cam, had a feeling what would come next. When John fought in a rage, he'd lose control and his offense would be sloppy and easy to dismantle. But what he saw was just ridiculous.

The Hardcase didn't just dodge the punch, he sidestepped it as if he'd seen it coming five minutes ago. As Deus's arm flew past, the Hardcase grabbed it and pulled, using Deus's momentum to add even more force when he slammed his knee into John's gut. To John and Michael, it was a green blur and John was doubled over in pain. Deus then felt an elbow slam into his back, sprawling him out on the floor. He laid there in pain for a second as the Hardcase prowled around him, like a cat playing with a wounded mouse. What he didn't know was that was exactly the case. John leapt to his feet, still angry and only a little fazed by the strikes. He thrust a leg out in a sidekick which the Hardcase caught under his arm, then brought his fist down on John's knee. He didn't break it, but it hurt like a mother fucker as evidenced by John's scream of pain. The Hardcase then punched Deus smack in the face, sprawling him on his back. This process of attack and counter continued for a few minutes, each time ending with Deus on the floor. John's adrenaline was wearing off, and he could now only feel fatigue and soreness from the repetitive ass kicking.

"**You know, Johnny, this has been fun, but I'm gonna have to cut it short for now,"** the Hardcase said.

"No you don't, I'm not done yet!" John replied, still angry, but knowing he was defeated.

"**Yeah yeah, just shuttup and listen for once,"** the Hardcase replied then showed a small metal ball and a detonator. **"This is called a ball bomb for obvious reasons. It's small but packs the explosive force of a frag grenade. It can be set to instant remote or timed detonation. This detonator will do two things: it'll blow open that wall behind me and open an escape route for me straight to freedom, and start the timers for the ball bombs in the mouth of every hostage here. You have a choice to make: first, you could chase me, but while there, the chances of you catching me are small. If you do catch me, you'll stop everything from getting worse, assuming the cops can hold me in. But in catching me and stopping the worst which is yet to come, you sacrifice every person here to instant death, and boy wouldn't it suck if you **_**didn't**_** catch me? Your second choice is to let me go and help these people. Hell if you're fast enough, you'll save 'em all…but I'll get away. And I'll come back, and more people will die. Lots more. It's your choice Johnny-boy. You got seven minutes."**

With that, he pressed the button. The wall did indeed explode, blasting out a hole the Hardcase turned and ran through. John paid him no attention as he leapt into action and ran to the nearest hostage. John knelt before him and unsealed and removed his helmet, revealing a horrified face with tears running from his eyes, mucus from his nose, and duct tape on his mouth, just as John had suspected. Deus ripped the tape off, and didn't know how to react to the hostage spitting the metal ball bomb into his visor.

"_Get me outta here now!"_ the man screamed in fear.

"Just get outta here, go! The cops are outside." Deus ordered, picking up the man's helmet and placing the saliva soaked ball bomb in it. Not needing to be told twice, the hostage stood and ran, bursting through the front door.

"Everyone listen!" Deus called as he moved to the next one. "We gotta move fast, so as soon as I pull the tape off, spit it in the helmet and run out the door! Don't stop, just run to the cops!" He began and continued the process, gathering bombs and shrinking the number of hostages in the room one at a time. With time running short, Deus relayed Michael with good and bad news: he'd gotten all the bombs, but now had a problem.

"What the fuck do I do with them?" John asked, his voice shaking as he wondered how much time was left for the helmet full of bombs he held.

"Hold on, hold on, I got it!" Michael cried. "There-s a-" Once again, the sound of someone eating potato chips overcame Michael's voice.

"Aw fuck, not now, not now!" John cried, now starting to panic.

"-afe, John! The safe! Throw them in the safe and close it!" Michael's voice came through. John turned, bolted for the safe, and found it empty, no doubt cleaned out by the Hardcase. He'd had this planned to the T. "Hurry John there's only a few seconds left!" Michael shouted, bringing Dues to his senses. John threw the helmet in and saw the ball bombs land and roll about as he slammed the door shut, turned, and ran. Suddenly there was a loud _whump_ as the safe door dented outward in several places.

* * *

Blake and the other cops stood in the crime scene examining the inside of the safe, both Deus and the Hardcase long gone. Though horrendously damaged, the safe had saved the building and anyone outside from possible flying debris. Blake and most of the cops knew who they had to thank for that, but their honorable guest wasn't in agreement on that subject.

"Saved everyone?" Mayor Owen asked incredulously. "Mr. Blake, Deus Ex Machina committed a blatant crime of destruction of private property. This bank won't be able to function for several months due to repairs."

"Maybe so," Blake said. "But think of this: had he not done it, those hostages would've all died, and not only that, had he not sealed the bombs in the safe, the whole building would've been damaged and not just your precious safe. Not only that, the damage to the building could've gotten a lot of people hurt. But above it all, he _saved those people_. He can't be that crazy, hell he fought that other guy-"

"And lost and allowed him to escape, as did your police force, Mr. Blake," Owen replied sternly, almost threateningly. "I'm seriously considering denying the budget increase based on you and your men's performance here today. Now get these delusions out of your head and don't forget: Deus Ex Machina is a dangerous man and must be taken down, no questions asked. Am I understood?"

"…Yes sir." Blake replied.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, there are a lot of reporters that want to know what happened here." As Owen left, Blake thought more on Deus's evidence. It was making sense now, much as he hated to think it. Blake made a mental reminder to get his best guys ready for a tailing job as he looked at the message spray painted onto the wall near the Hardcase's escape hole.

_Just Have Fun_

_- The Hardcase

* * *

_

**Authors Note: I didn't think I'd have to ask, but please review? I like feedback whenever possible. Also, if anyone gets the song the Hardcase was singing, they get a prize. So read and review please. Finally, I'd like to thank my unofficial beta reader TheSpazzo. With his contributions, the end result takes a bit longer to publish, but It's so much better.**


	6. A Real Rough Ride

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham.** **Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

Derrick Owen sat in his office closing out the data files he'd been working on as part of his duties as mayor of the hellhole called Salvation City. He was grateful today was a "light" day with few appointments and things to do. He could get to his real business soon, and that made Owen smile in his helmet. These thoughts were interrupted by a beep from a speaker on his desk.

"Mr. Owen, you have a call waiting on line one, it's from Home for the Homeless," his receptionist said. Owen's smile broadened. Lister only used that line when they were discussing the real business.

"Thank you Chandra," Owen said sweetly before connecting his comm to the secure line. "Talk to me Lister, how're things on your end?" he said.

"**I dunno, ain't seen 'im all day."** the Hardcase replied. Owen's smile vanished, but he kept his voice even and cool.

"Well, well, just the man I wanted to speak with. I'd like to discuss our agreement Cannonball."

"**Hardcase. It's Hardcase now."**

"Right, Hardcase. I believe our agreement stated you'd kill Deus Ex Machina in exchange for my modder's services. It seems, however, that Deus is still alive. Why is this?"

"**I ain't done with him yet,"** the Hardcase said. **"When a kid gets a new toy, it becomes the center of the universe for awhile, then he gets over it and does one of two things. Depending on the kid, he'll either toss it in a closet and never see it again until his ma tosses it out, or he'll get rid of it with a firecracker. Deus Ex Machina is my toy, and I'm the kinda kid who goes with the firecracker. Trust me, when I've had all the fun I can have with him, he'll be outta your way for good."**

"That's understandable, but I'd prefer him to be out of my way _now_,"

"**Ooh, is that your big scary voice you intimidate your bitches with?"** the Hardcase asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm despite the powerful drug lord's anger. **"Patience is a virtue, Big Shot, and while you're surely not a man of virtue, you're gonna have to have patience anyways. We have an agreement, and I'll hold up my end in due time. It'd help speed up the process if you'd do me a favor, though."** Owen gritted his teeth and held back his anger. He could practically feel his temper fuse burning to nothing.

"What kind of favor?" he asked.

"**Have two goons meet me at the Richland Chemical Facility tonight at nine sharp. Kinda goons who do heavy lifting with no questions. I'm sure you got plenty of those, right?"**

"Indeed I do," Owen said sourly. "They'll be there."

"**Thanks. Oh, and I wouldn't drink any tap water for the next few weeks."** With that, the line clicked dead.

* * *

John Brent sat before the vid screen watching the helmet cam footage of his encounter with the Hardcase. Michael had lost count of how many times he'd seen it.

"There's nothing there you haven't seen the first hundred times John." Mike noted, concern evident in his voice.

"There's something about this guy Mike," John replied. "It was like he was reading my mind."

"I know, I saw it all."

"But you weren't there. There was something about him that just…creeps me out. His voice. You notice how it sounds…weird?" Michael contemplated this.

"Yeah, actually. I do," he admitted. "It's not a voice filter, that much is certain. His external speakers aren't malfunctioning either, you'd hear it if they were."

"It's like his voice is just…wrong. I can't explain it any better," John said.

"Me neither," Michael replied. "What bothers me most is the way he fights. It's like-"

"Like he knew what I was gonna do before I did it," John finished. The irony struck Michael like a baseball bat. "You don't think it was an armor mod, do you?"

"I don't think so," Michael said. "It would have to predict muscle movements and coordinate a pre-emptive response in too short a time span to be realistic. That guy was fast, but not fast enough for his armor to have told him what response to make and then actually do it."

"What about mind reading? Is there a mod for that?" John asked, his gaze fixed on a freeze frame of the Hardcase.

"No, that's just impossible. Thoughts occur as impulses in the brain. All you'd see are parts of the brain lighting up,"

"Then how the hell did he know what I was thinking? And how else could he have known what I was gonna do?"

"He's probably good at word games and just figured what you were gonna say while talking. He's trying to get in your head, John, and it's working. I think you should take a break or something."

"First off," John said, his voice now seething in anger. "No, I don't need a break, I need to figure out how this guy works and find a way around it. Secondly, what the hell do you mean it's working?"

"Well," Michael started. "You're starting to get obsessed with this guy. You haven't eaten anything in hours, you haven't slept since you got back from the bank yesterday, and after what he said about-"

"That has nothing to do with this!" John shouted, cutting his friend off harshly. The room was filled with a tense silence, penetrated only by white noise from the vid screen.

"I'm sorry John, but-" Michael started.

"No, stop…you're right. He's getting to me, I just….I need something eat. And sleep. I'm done for awhile." John said glumly, realizing what kind of mood he'd started spiraling into. With that, he walked past Michael and headed for the kitchen. Mike approached the vid screen and reached out to turn it off, then paused. The freeze-frame of the Hardcase seemed to stare at him. The visor of his helmet was a thin orange slit under a rim that seemed to bore into Michael's eyes, and behind it he knew the Hardcase was smiling. He just knew it. It gave him the heebie-jeebies, and he didn't like it at all. Shaking his head, Mike turned it off.

* * *

It was nine PM at the Richland Chemical Facility. The security cameras were no longer functioning, and both security guards lay dead in the hallways. One had been stabbed in the throat, his helmet removed to prevent him from calling for help on his comm. He'd had the displeasure of bleeding to death while struggling to breathe through the blood in his lungs. The other met a similar fate: his spine had been stabbed at just the right spot to paralyze him from the neck down but keep him alive. Then he'd been stabbed in the side, between two ribs, his lung punctured. He'd drowned in his own blood minutes later.

In the docking bay, two men in armor were carrying large crates onto the trailer of a semi truck. A third figure, the Hardcase, stood nearby, juggling three green colored glass orbs while tottering about, humming circus music. He was using his powers of precognition to see what would happen if he dropped one, and he found it quite hilarious. The crates were marked with numbers and letters which didn't make sense to anyone who didn't have a major degree in chemistry. Fortunately for the Hardcase, he'd found a doc with such a degree and had been able to find the crates his new goonies were loading for him. He needed to get this done fast, and two workers was better than one. Plus, he just didn't feel like doing all that lifting. Eventually, after forty-five minutes of lifting and cursing, the two goons plopped one of the last crates in, making its contents clatter inside.

"**Hey hey hey!"** the Hardcase said, catching his juggling balls and holding them in his hands. **"Careful with that shit, you know what it is?"**

"No, I don't." One goon said with anger, obviously not caring either. The Hardcase walked up to him and held one green orb in front of his face.

"**This is 50 milligrams of VX chemical nerve agent. It is the single most deadly and effective chemical weapon ever discovered, and it's been around for 600 years. It was outlawed for use and stockpiling in 1993, but lately some folks don't care considering the space freaks we've been up against. It's odorless and tasteless, meaning you could be covered in it and wouldn't know. In liquid form, it's lethal at 10 milligrams. In vapor form, like this little diddy here," **he said before he began bouncing the orb in his hand. **"It's lethal at 30. This little snow globe of death is God's own form of overkill. It acts on the synapses that control muscle movement. Inhaling this shit will make every muscle in your body contract hard enough to break all your bones like twigs and crush your heart and lungs with your diaphragm, your throat and windpipe get squeezed shut, and everything burns like hell the whole damn time. Your muscle system basically squeezes everything to death. Now a funny thing about civilian armor like yours is that it doesn't feature the air filters real Mark VI armor does. Thankfully, I've had mine put back in. So if I were to, say…DROP IT!" **With that, the Hardcase had moved his hand, allowing the midair orb to plummet towards the concrete floor. The goon jerked away in fear before the Hardcase caught the orb with his foot like a soccer ball. He tossed it back up and caught it with a grin, reveling in the fear emanating from both goons. **"You two would've seriously been fucked up. So please, respect the shit?"** The two goons didn't need anymore warnings, and handled the remaining crates with the care of nurses handling newborns. Not long afterwards, they were finished. One closed the trailer and went to start the truck while the other went to make sure the coast was clear. When he was sure it was, he came back….and saw the other lying in a pool of blood.

"**Think fast!"** the Hardcase cried. The goon turned in time to see him wind up like a major league pitcher and hurl an orb of VX gas at him. Before he could react, it shattered on his helmet's visor, and though he couldn't taste it, he inhaled all 50 mg.

"You sonuvabitch!" the goon cried, coughing violently. "I'm gonna, I'm gonna, oh God…" His coughing increased, starting off like he'd inhaled thick smoke, but grew raspy and sharp with each cough, reaching a point when it sounded like he'd hock up a lung at any minute. He then fell to the floor seizuring violently. The Hardcase stepped over the writhing goon, whistling as if nothing were wrong, hopped into the truck, and drove off, ignoring the bump when the back wheels of the trailer put the goon out of his misery. As he drove off into the night, the Hardcase once again sang to music that wasn't there.

"**Livin' like trash, a society rash, ready to break and ready to dash. A bad deal and a real rough ride, and doin' time on the other side. No rebellion, not today. I get my kicks in my own way."

* * *

**

**Author's Note: I appreciate the one new review I've gotten, but I'd really love some more please, readers? Due to the difficulty of the last song riddle, I'll make this one easier with some clues: it's an AC/DC song that's been referenced before in this story. So please review?**


	7. A Good Beat

**Author's Note: This story's been up for awhile, and it's been really slow in progress for several reason, ranging from medical emergencies to months-long internet disconnection. Most recently, my trusty beta reader TheSpazzo has had to step down to focus on more important things, and so I've been searching for a new one. That new beta's been found in my friend Myzak, who has helped me redo the first three chapters, which I've always felt were the lowest quality of the bunch. They're still not as good as the rest, but they're better. Check 'em out, and be sure to drop a review.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.**

_There's a killer on the Road. His brain is squirmin' like a toad. Take a long holiday, let your children play. If you give this man a ride sweet family will die. Killer on the road._ – The Doors, "Riders on the Storm" (_L.A. Woman_, 1971)

* * *

Emile Duke's job was so important, yet so goddamn boring it wasn't even funny. He was, more or less, a babysitter for missiles. They sat stockpiled here in a weapons facility, and his job was to literally sit here and watch them, and make sure nothing happened to them. No man could possibly count the hours Duke had spent just sitting and staring through the window that sat over the terminal before him. The terminal was used to move the missiles, something he loved to do just because it was different from staring at the damn things. But that part of the job was like the average middle-aged man getting sex from his wife. Well, maybe not as fun, but it broke the monotony.

Thankfully, he had a way to break the monotony much ore often, although it also could get old after awhile: man's best friend, the jugs magazine. It kept him entertained throughout his long shifts, but he could only see all those perky nipples so many times before they'd become just another set of tits. Luckily, Duke was a monthly subscriber.

Duke was enjoying such a magazine, his feet propped on the active yet unused terminal, the clock showing it was close to midnight. Great, another six hours of this shit. Duke just grumbled and returned to his "reading" material, already wanting a new issue. They just didn't last as long as they used to. He'd just uncurled a centerfold of a stunning "alt girl" with purple hair and tattoos all over her smooth back when there was a loud knocking at the door.

"Jonesy, that you?" Duke called as he sat the magazine aside and stood. "Seriously, you don't pop around as much as you should, a man needs a constant supply of brewskies in desperate times like this." He added as he walked towards the door, a heavy security kind that could only be accessed from the outside by a code entered into a key-pad, and that could be deactivated from the inside. Unlike facilities which the money-handlers deemed more worthy of moolah than a fucking weapons storage facility, there was no camera mounted outside to show who was knockin'. Instead, there was an old 20th Century style sliding panel through which Duke could look. If he wasn't wearing his helmet, you'd be able to see his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He slid the panel open and saw that it was, in fact, not Jonesy at all.

"**Nuclear disposal?"** the guy outside asked, his armor modified from the green standard civilian issue. Duke had seen enough altered suits to not find it odd.

"Nah, G Hall, three right turns that way," Duke said, pointing to his right with his hand visible in the slot. "New here?"

"**Yeah,"**

"Like it so far? Your job's probably better than mine."

"**Ooh, I'm like a fat kid at a Hershey's factory,"** the new guy replied, earning a good laugh from Duke.

"Alright, catch ya around," Duke said with a wave before closing the slot. He turned and was halfway back to his boring chair when the door knocked again. Arching an eyebrow, Duke turned and went back to the door. New guy probably needed a repeat of directions or something.

Duke opened the slot again, and didn't even have time to say "Yeah?" before the shotgun in the slot shattered everything above his jawline. The rag doll-like corpse hit the ground, blood, brain matter, and skull fragments spreading in a pool under it as a series of beeps came outside. Another, then the Hardcase opened the security door and entered, turning and closing the door before deactivating the outside keypad. Turning around, the Hardcase walked to the terminal, sat down and set his shotgun to the side, then set to work. His fingers flew across the keypad, inputting codes and commands from Duke's mind. Through the window, the Hardcase watched as a mechanized arm began moving, slid into a missile rack, pulled out the ordnance, and placed it on a motor cart designed to transport such weapons.

* * *

"Jesus, that's a bad way to go," Robert Blake whispered, his right hand shaking as he looked at the unmasked corpse on the floor before him. Dried foam coated the area around its mouth, the neck was at an impossible angle, and his eyes were red where they should be white because of the busted blood vessels.

"Well the other one got the quickest way out," the cop crouched by the body said. "Looks like just a stab wound to the underside of the jaw. Probably went up into the skull."

"Okay…walk through it again, from the beginning," Blake ordered, his gaze frozen on those red eyes.

"Homeless guy walking to the liquor store almost gets run over by a trailer truck pulling out this building," Rhodes started, his gaze also unable to leave the corpse that had indeed gone out in a real bad way. "He goes inside to complain to someone in charge and finds this guy. He calls us, first guys on the scene secure the area and find the other. Everyone else shows up and, here we are."

"Okay…we got two dead security guards, two dead John Does, and disabled security cameras. On top of that, the truck hauling ass outta here, obviously in a hurry."

"I think I'm followin' ya," Rhodes nodded.

"I'm not," the cop crouched by the body said.

"A few guys, most likely three, came here to take something, the third guy kills his two cronies or partners and gets away in the truck." Blake explained, looking around the warehouse in which they stood.

"Why though?"

"There coulda been a falling out, a dispute of some kind," Rhodes explained.

"Or the guy who made it out just wanted to make sure there were no loose ends of any kind," Blake added.

"Why are you so certain it's one guy though?" the cop again asked, stumped on how his bosses seemed to be solving so easily. Probably why they were in charge.

"Three of the four dead guys were killed with a knife, and just looking at the wounds, it looks like the same one was used on all three of 'em," Blake said. "Won't know for sure though until the autopsy, but that's not what worries me."

"What does?" Rhodes asked.

"The truck tells me they were stealing something, a _lot_ of something…and we're in a fucking chemical facility,"

* * *

It was a tough fit, but the missile was now packed into the trailer of the truck. The sound of the trailer doors closing echoed throughout the warehouse, the second one of the night the Hardcase had had to break into. After locking the trailer, the Hardcase walked towards the driver's cabin, his shotgun in his hand, a good song in his head. He opened the driver's door, tossed his shotgun into the passenger's seat, and grabbed the handle as be prepared to hoist himself up.

He was stopped by the sound of a cocking pistol.

"And just what the fuck do you think you're doing?" a security guard growled, his Magnum inches from the Hardcase's head. "Hands up, back away from the vehicle."

The Hardcase at first didn't do anything, but then raised his hands in the air slowly, his posture not that of a man caught red handed, but of a man going through the motions. He took a step back, bringing his feet together, then repeated the movement before turning to face the rent-a-cop. He kept his cool, almost icy gaze on the officer through his visor as the guard kept his aim on the Hardcase's chest. For a few moments, he did nothing else, as if something was bugging him enough to freeze him. Shaking it off, the security officer reached for his comm…and never stood a chance.

The Hardcase struck like a coiled viper, grabbing the guard's right hand, which held his Magnum, and dragging him in by the arm. The Hardcase then struck his foot out, kicking the side of the guard's knee inward and breaking it with a sickening pop. The guard screamed in utter agony as he fell to the ground, his Magnum flying through the air and clattering on the concrete floor. With a swift kick to side of the head, the Hardcase shattered the comm. In the guard's helmet, cutting off from calling help, and giving him a nasty head wound in the process. But that didn't stop him from screaming and wailing. He started to drag himself backwards with an elbow, but the Hardcase reached out and grabbed his shattered knee with a vice grip that elicited a screech of agony.

"**Whoa, ho-ho-ho, where d'ya think you're goin'? We haven't even gotten started yet!"** the Hardcase cajoled has he dragged the screaming guard back towards the truck. Roughly dropping the broken knee onto the concrete, he turned and climbed partway into the driver's cabin. Digging around, he found the perfect plaything and held it up admiringly: a good old fashioned crowbar. A thought then occurred to him, and to better fit the mood, the Hardcase switched on the truck's radio and turned the dial to a station called "The Greats", which played the hits that defined music, even from centuries past. The DJ said something about Queen and Bowie, then the most recognizable bass riff in music came on, accompanied by alternative snapping and clapping in beat with a drum kit.

Bobbing his head and shoulders in time to the music, the Hardcase griped the crowbar as he began dancing around the guard snapping in time with the song as a guitar began riffing. Then, he lunged without warning, plunging the sharp end of the crowbar into the shattered knee in perfect unison with the start of the lyrics.

"Pressure! _Pushin' down on me! Pressin' down on you, no man ask for!"_

The Hardcase ignored the guard's screams and wails and began gyrating the crowbar in the wound, digging and ripping and tearing. He let go and saw that the crowbar was in enough to stand on its own, then he kicked it, doing further damage to the wound when the weapon ripped out and clattered to the floor. The Hardcase scrambled for it as the music played and the guard screamed, grabbing the crowbar and proceeding to hit the knee as fast and hard as he could. The guard kept screaming, his voice raw, his throat on fire, and his lungs barely working. With a vicious swing, he slammed it into the guard's face, silencing him for just a moment before he grabbed the nearby pistol. Gripping it in one hand, the Hardcase began bashing the guard's visor, uncaring of the blubbering noises from within as the guard was choking on his blood and teeth, several bones in his face broken and continuing to be shattered.

The Hardcase kept beating his face as the music built into a crescendo.

"_And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night, and love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves!"_

"_This is our last dance!"_

"_This is our last dance!"_

"_This is ourselves!"_

"_Under pressure,"_

The Hardcase finally stopped, glanced at the bloody pistol in his hand, and tossed it aside like garbage before standing and getting into the truck, shut the door, and drove off, whistling along with the beat and the music as it slowly died down to snapping in time.


	8. Bloody Wayside

**Disclaimer: I do not own the machinima series **_**Deus Ex Machina**_**, nor do I own its characters, settings, etc. Those are all property of Jon "DigitalPh33r" Graham. Halo and its related properties such as weapons, armor, etc are property of Bungie Studios and Microsoft.

* * *

**

Not even two hours had passed since securing the crime scene at the Richland Chemical Facility when the ramshackle Salvation City Police Department got a call regarding two more murders. Robert Blake sent his right hand man, Rhodes, with a unit to secure and begin investigating what was going on at the new scene, a weapons storage facility. The location itself gave Blake's gut bad vibes, but that was nothing compared to the flips and spins it was doing when Rhodes called at roughly 11:31 about his scene's security footage.

"It's definitely the same trailer truck. Our killer's on the move and he looks like he's still got places to be. We can also confirm that he's armed with a couple firearms, military grade shotgun and handgun, and a crowbar. He's also got armor mods, kind that make ya faster and stronger."

"How do you know they make him stronger?" Blake asked as he ducked under the crime scene tape and headed for his personal car, preferring the security offered by a roof to the open carriage of the Hogs.

"He bashed the rent-a-cop's visor and pulverized every bone in his face with a handgun." came Rhodes's blunt reply.

"Alright, we need to put an alert out on the news or somethin'," Blake grunted as he closed the driver-side door and began pulling out. "Do we at least know who he is?"

"Footage is kinda grainy, can't make out the armor for sure, but I've got a feelin- wait, I just got the image cleaned up…yeah, it's him." Blake sighed when the answer didn't come right out.

"It's _who_?" he asked in frustration.

"The Hardcase," Rhodes answered calmly. "He's moved up from stealing credits to stealing weapons. Now's he's got a missile and some kinda chemical weapon."

"We finally IDed that," Blake informed his fellow lawman as he turned on the bubble-light on his car's dashboard and picked up his speed. "VX Nerve Agent."

"Ok, how bad is that?"

"Remember the guy with the foam in his mouth? The only one who wasn't stabbed? Imagine a whole sector of the city like that, without the tire marks."

* * *

The com channel Robert Blake and Rhodes were using was supposed to be a secure police-only channel that was only accessible to, obviously, police personnel. As they discussed confidential matters regarding what had become a very large murder investigation that was quickly heading into counter-terrorism territory, however, they never knew they had other ears listening in on every single word. Michael Jacobs wasn't sure how to feel about how easy it was to hack into said channel. It was good because now he could help John with vital information to keep him ahead of the cops…but these guys were the city's law enforcement. If it was easy for him, how easy could it be for others who knew the right buttons to press?

"_Alright, I'll get on it,"_ Rhodes replied to his new assignment of gathering traffic-camera footage to find the trail of the trailer truck driven by the nutjob on the loose with a few guns and a crowbar. And that knife. No one had said anything about it on the police channel, but Michael was willing to bet money the Hardcase had that knife with him. He didn't know why that knife bothered him so much, and he never figured out even as he hacked the city's camera system and found the footage Rhodes hadn't even gotten a chance to _start_ looking for yet.

"Got it," Mike said into a com channel of his own. "John, he pulled into the Wayside Docks area about forty minutes ago. I can't see inside the compound but I did see other vehicles heading in, none of 'em came back out."

"_Cronies?"_ John asked, the humming of a Mongoose audible under his voice.

"I think, but get this: their plates match those issued to vehicles used by the mayor's office for government affairs. These are _Owen's_ guys. Apparently he likes what the Hardcase is doing."

"_Mike, are you there? Put the damn Lays down or get a new com set and say that again!"_

"Yeah, they're cronies! They're Owen's cronies, but they're definitely cronies!" Mike repeated with frustration.

"_Alright! Jeeze, you don't need to get so pissy about it."_

"Pissy? You're the one who-"

"_What? I can't hear- nevermind, listen, I'll call up Blake and let him know to get a fast response team out to the docks. I'm on my way to break up a party."

* * *

_

"_What? I can't hear- nevermind, listen, I'll call up Blake and let him know to get a fast response team out to the docks. I'm on my way to break up a party."_

The guy on the computer didn't even bother listening to the geek's reply before shutting off his system and turning to his new boss, the one the _real_ boss told him to listen to for the time being. The new boss in question nodded that yes, he heard that, and the way he pulled the knife out of the sheath on his chest and played with it gave the impression he was looking forward to what was about to go down.

* * *

Blake was just about to make his last turn en route to the news station when his com rang with an unidentified caller. The voice that answered was the last one he expected to hear.

"Blake, this is your friend," the man he knew was Deus Ex Machina said. "You need to get a team out to the Wayside Docks right now. Your nutjob killer's got himself some nasty equipment out there, and he's got back-up. I'm gonna need some of my own." The channel cut off before Blake could reply, and so instead he pulled a u-ey in the middle of the street and put the call out.

* * *

John ditched the Mongoose a few blocks from the docks, wanting as much stealth as possible. From across the street, his night vision made out the armed men guarding the main gate. John decided to search for alternatives before risking a fight with them that could alert the others to his presence. A few minutes later he found that the surrounding fence was lined with barbed wire. His armor would prevent injury and only suffer some scratched paint, but he could still get entangled and make too much noise trying to get loose. But right behind him, John had a basis for a plan.

Another few minutes later, John stood in a fourth floor window of a business office only a wide alley's width away from the fence. On the other side of that fence was one of many warehouses. John couldn't jump over the fence from his current spot, that'd be ridiculous…but he could slide.

John pointed his fist at the sky over the warehouse, his HUD plotting the trajectory he needed and telling him where to aim. When the reticule turned red, he fired his grappling hook and watched it soar through the air, the black line trailing behind it and unfurling from his gauntlet. With his HUD magnified, John saw the hook arc, dive, impact, and stick to the warehouse's wall, allowing him to make the line as taut as possible before flicking the switch Mike showed him and disconnecting the line, which now had a hook added to the end. Racking the hook onto the curtain rod over the window, John grabbed the rope he found in a janitor's closet. He draped it over the zip line, gripped both ends, and was preparing to jump out the window when the chip-crunching static came through his com.

"You really need a new com, Mike," John grumbled before jumping. Gravity did the rest, and John held on tight as he zipped down the slope of black line. Above him, the rope whined with burning friction, and the fence grew closer and closer by the second. John actually had to raise his feet to clear the barbed wire, and he had just barely done so when the rope he held snapped, dropping him to the ground like a rock. The wind was knocked out of his lungs, and so he had no reply to the next transmission Mike made, which came through clearly as day.

"_I told you that'd happen."

* * *

_

It had been nine o'clock sharp when the Hardcase and his two loaned goons (who'd never see another day of work again) had broken into the Richland Chemical Facility, starting a night of theft and violence that couldn't lead to anywhere good. It was a little past twelve-thirty in the morning when Robert Blake pulled to a stop behind a Hog parked just around the corner from the Wayside Docks. He parked and turned off the ignition before stepping out, his eyes watching the six men in blue armor standing around the back of said Hog. When he closed his door, one of the minglers tossed him a handgun he caught with ease.

"B variant, huh?" Blake asked as he joined them, turning the M6G Magnum over in his hands. The B variant seemed, at first glance, identical to the C variant that was standard issue to the UNSC Marine Corps and the Salvation City Police Department. But it had a slightly shorter barrel, a faster rate of fire (as fast as the operator could pull the trigger), and an under-barrel smart-link 2x scope. Really its only shortcoming when compared to the C variant was its decreased accuracy. "What do we got?"

"At least four guys standing around the main gate with automatic weapons," Bardwell, the officer in charge of the fast response team, reported as he took Blake's offered C variant and placed it in the Hog for safekeeping during the raid. He was one of the older members of the force, and while he hadn't enlisted in the UNSC after his home world was glassed and he relocated to Earth, he _had_ been trained in the Colonial Militia, and so had the most experience with military-grade weapons other than Blake and a former Marine whose contract had expired. "Not sure what they got in there, but they don't want anyone getting in. The fact alone that they've got assault rifles in public is enough reason for a takedown."

Blake nodded as he listened before walking to the corner of the building that obstructed his view from the target area, Bardwell right behind him. Blake peered around the corner and observed the fenced perimeter and guarded gate down the street.

"What kind of rifles do you think they have?" Blake asked.

"Can't get a good look in this lighting, but their silhouettes look like something from the MA5 series," Bardwell answered.

"I take it your militia unit was trained by Marines,"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"In the Army we call it an MA37, and we never adopted the replacement rifles the Marines did."

"So?"

"So, I've read up on the MA5B and C, how they're different and how to use 'em, but I don't have any actual experience with 'em. I was hoping you did."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I never even got to touch the DMRs they issued our unit sharpshooters. I just handled the old MA5, the Magnum, and the M90 Shotgun."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, and we're gonna need the firepower those rifles have."

The two senior officers returned to the rest of the fast response team and began setting out the plan of attack. They were just getting to the contingencies when they heard gunfire from the docks.

* * *

John's fall on his ass had been easy to recover from, and thankfully no one had heard his armor slamming into pavement. Using his night vision and the midnight darkness, he progressed through the compound, using various crates and warehouses as cover. For almost ten minutes, he found nothing…until he reached the docks themselves by the water where, amidst scattered columns of crates covered in tarps and storage barrels, he found what could only be described as a small camp of men in civilian armor with various forms of military grade weapons. It was the only section of the docks with lighting, and so John had to deactivate his night vision to see the set-up that dominated the center of the scene: a single portable-missile launch pad, which was surrounded by armed goons. The only ones who _weren't_ packing heat seemed occupied with transferring what looked like giant ropes of reflective green grapes into an inner compartment of a missile.

"_That's the VX he stole from the Richland Facility,"_ Michael explained over the com, his transmissions clear for once. _"He's turning a standard missile into a nerve gas delivery system. Anyone not killed by the explosion or shrapnel gets a major dose of it and become as good as dead."_

"He's gonna wanna hit a place with as many people as possible," John thought aloud. "What're his most likely targets, Mike?"

"_Well, there're a few major neighborhoods in the missile's effective range…aw hell, who am I kidding, any part of the entire city and its outer limits are in that range! He might as well be playing darts while standing right in front of the board!"_

"Ok then, narrow it down to major areas that'll affect the city as a whole. Water treatment plants, hospitals, anything you can think of."

"_Ok…he's probably gonna wait until tomorrow to use it, sometime in the afternoon when the public areas are packed with people. Man there're a lot of options…Salvation Regional, City Hall, the Police Headquarters…wait…John, can you see anything across the bay from where you are?"_

John had to move to a few new places of cover, but eventually he could see through the fence by the water to the lighted city skyline…and the one structure that stood out and shone the brightest.

"Wheel Tower…" John muttered in realization.

"_It kinda makes sense,"_ Michael muttered as he ran various numbers through his computers. _"During lunch hour the plaza at the bottom's packed with sightseers, not to mention the tower itself. But he could get more people at all sorts of other places…"_

"But think of it Mike: how often does something bad ever at Wheel Tower and the plaza?"

"_Almost never,"_

"Exactly. And this is more than bad, it's catastrophic. The tower collapses, anyone nearby gets fried by the missile or shredded by the shrapnel, and then there's the gas…depending on how the wind's blowing tomorrow-"

He was cut off by a lead pipe slamming into the back of his head, dropping him to the ground in a daze. John couldn't see anything but black spots and stars.

"_John! John, what happened?"_ Mike was shouting.

"**Well well, how's it hangin' Johnny-boy?"** the Hardcase jeered as he leisurely strolled around John's form as it struggled to his hands and knees. **"You guys never disappoint to show up when you're expected to. Now come on, your fans are waitin'!"** The Hardcase grabbed John by the back of the neck with his free hand and dragged him out into the middle of the goon-gaggle where everyone was now gathered in a sort of half circle, with the missile system completing it. After he was roughly thrown down onto the concrete in the middle of the bright lights, John realized he was surrounded.

"**That's right Johnny-boy, no way out,"** the Hardcase grinned as he pulled John's Magnum off his thigh armor and tossed it to someone in the crowd. **"It's you and me, and our own little arena of the worst your city's got ta offer. We're like gladiators without the faggotry!"** he was striding around the "arena", speaking to the onlookers when everyone knew who he was really addressing. By the time John struggled to his feet, the Hardcase was standing across from him, the small space of the arena's diameter between them. **"Now, since you seem to have somewhat of a handicap, I'll give ya a little break."** John barely caught the lead pipe the Hardcase tossed to him. It seemed this was gonna be a matter of weapon versus fist. **"So what are ya waitin' for? Let's have some fun!"** the Hardcase challenged.

John scanned his surroundings and didn't like his choices. His last experience fighting the Hardcase had been a bad one, but this time he had a weapon. But the worst part was the mob of cronies surrounding them both. Guys who all, at the end of the day, answered to Derek Owen, a very powerful man who wanted him dead. And they all had guns.

Seeing no better option, John rushed the Hardcase and swung the pipe at his head. For a brief moment, he thought it'd connect, but this thought was dashed by the Hardcase's hands, one of which deflected John's own upwards as he ducked, the other connecting with a sharp uppercut that knocked John on his back, the pipe sent flying into the air before it landed and bounced with a clang on the cold cement. John pulled himself up just in time to catch the pipe again, but this time the Hardcase didn't wait for him to make the first move. He bum-rushed John and shoulder-tackled him to the ground before straddling his waist and laying into his face with a flurry of punches. John didn't even notice when the Hardcase hopped off and started prowling around the arena while the goons jeered and taunted for him to get up and take some more. John managed to get onto one knee when the Hardcase sent a leg toward his face. This time, John came out on top and caught the leg before throwing himself into his opponent, sending them both onto the ground. They began rolling and fighting for the top as the crowd cheered for blood. John managed to throw the Hardcase across the arena, knocking a few goons down in the process. He scampered over and grabbed the pipe, just in time to hear the running footsteps of the Hardcase coming in for another attack. Without even thinking, he spun and swung, grateful to hear and _feel_ it connect with the side of the Hardcase's helmet, sending him onto his own face. John was preparing himself for the next rush when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned in time to see a goon raise a Battle Rifle and aim it at him.

Acting on instinct, John dropped just in time to dodge a burst which dropped another goon in a bloody heap. The now dead goon's weapon, an SMG, was slung out of his hand and slid across the ground. John caught it as it went by and started spraying and running, cutting a path through the ring of humanity and running for cover while bullets bounced off his energy shields and into the goons around him. Just before his shields failed, John dived behind a crate and dropped, breathing heavily as he tried to regain his senses.

"_John! John, are you okay?"_ Mike was shouting.

"I'm fine," John groaned. "Just peachy- aw, Christ my jaw."

His expression of pain was punctuated by the sound of an engine increasing in volume, followed by screeching tires and even _more_ gunfire. John peered out of his cover and saw a team of police officers, five armed with Magnums and two with Assault Rifles, engaging the mob of goons from the cover near their transport, a civilian Hog.

* * *

Robert Blake didn't know what it was they found on the docks, but he didn't like it. A helluva lot more men with guns than the ones guarding the gate, and what looked like a missile. Oh hell, it actually _was_ a missile!

Blake had just leaped out of the Hog and into cover behind a crate when bullets began flying over him. The weight of the gate guard's Assault Rifle (which was, fortunately for him, an MA37/MA5) was comforting as he assessed the situation.

"Bardwell!" Blake alerted through his com. "Take two guys and start clearing our right flank! I'll call for back-up, then take the others and head left! We'll get 'em in a pincer movement!"

"_Got it, we're moving!"_

Blake then stood and fired a burst in the direction of the incoming gunfire, managing to catch at least two guys who hadn't been smart enough to find cover. He then ducked back down and put out the call for back-up. They'd take thirty minutes to show up.

"Alright guys, we need to move!"

* * *

At roughly 12:57 am, the Wayside Docks became a warzone. Police officers and petty criminals fired on each other with various firearms, all with the intent of walking out alive. A good number wouldn't. One of those unfortunates was a man named Fester, whose final act in this world was arming the missile as ordered by the Hardcase. He'd just finished inputting the code when a round from an M6G Magnum entered his skull from above and behind his right ear.

John Brent shoved the body aside so as to give his helmet camera a clear view of the controls, which were covered in blood and brain matter. Mike had just barely seen them when the Hardcase bragged the back of John's head and slammed it into the controls with enough force to shatter the keyboard and display screen.

"**Pretty cool, huh Johnny-boy?"** the Hardcase asked, his eyes fixed on the sky and the city in the distance. He didn't seem to care about the bullet-storm around him at all. **"It's almost biblical. Poetic, even."** He then grabbed the lead pipe off the ground and started stalking toward John. One second, John was by the missile launch system, the next he was by a civilian Hog. For a moment, he thought it was the cops'. But then he saw that it was, in fact, an _actual_ Warthog, complete with the machine gun in the rear. And a tow wench and cable on the front bumper…

"**Think of the fireworks, the headlines, it's almost like a celebration…a bicentennial, with one **_**hell**_** of a bang to end it all! Ooh, I'm just **_**giddy**_** with anticipa-"**

"_Freeze!"_ a voice shouted, that of a police officer with a Magnum trained on the Hardcase's back. _"Drop your weapon and step-"_ He never got to finish. Faster than a fly on meth, the Hardcase hurled the pipe, which collided with the officer's face, sending him staggering. The Hardcase charged, drawing his knife with blood on his mind. His left hand gripped the cop's throat in a vice grip while his right, fueled by the momentum of his run, thrust the knife upward into the cop's crotch and lifted him by both over his head. John used the ditraction to his advantage: he fired his grappling hook into one of the missile's tailfins, then disconnected the line from his gauntlet and hooked it to the Warthog's tow cable. As the missile actually began to lift into the air, John could only run and pray his idea worked.

The Hardcase, after nabbing his poor victim in the worst way possible, had continued running with the screaming man over his head before chucking him with all his strength off the docks and into the water below. He didn't need to be a mind reader to know the knife hurt worse coming out than going it. After sending the schmuck to his watery grave, he flicked his knife to rid it of the blood and pieces of testicle or scrotum plumbing that stuck to its blade. He had just re-sheathed it when he saw the missile fly over, a black line visible in the glow of its fiery trail. Turning, he saw the tow cable of a Warthog unfurling at dangerously fast speeds. Looking around quickly, he saw a fire axe and grabbed it before sprinting toward the 'hog with the full intent of severing that cable like an Achilles tendon.

The Warthog jerked into the air and flew past the Hardcase before he could reach it, and he could only stand in dumb disbelief as he watched it follow the missile. Somewhere over the bay between the Wayside Docks and Wheel Tower, the flame of the missile's jet suddenly took a weird angle, and the Hardcase could only watch as it was dragged into the bay by the weight of the jeep. There was a dull _thump_ followed by the sound of roaring water as it mushroomed upwards from the explosion, followed by a very small earthquake.

The Hardcase watched this all, unaware and uncaring of the firefight still going on behind him. A voice then spoke up beside him, that of the computer guy who'd gotten into Michael Jacobs's com channel.

"Now what?"

The answer he received was the blade of the fire axe impacting with his face. He dropped faster than a sack of bricks and never even flinched. The Hardcase looked around the docks at the action before slinking off into the shadows.

* * *

By 2:15 am, the SCPD had secured the docks with very few prisoners. Those who hadn't fought to the death had fled in vehicles stashed throughout the docks. Those who _had_ been captured were more often complaining about a bullet hole or two that would require medical attention. There was no sign of the missile, though they had seen it explode in the water, so that was one less thing to worry about, at least. Unfortunately, there was also no sign of the Hardcase, the whole reason for this escapade.

On the plus side though, the SCPD "confiscated" several military grade weapons for implementation in its severely lacking arsenal, and a very horrendous disaster had been averted, and thousands of lives saved. All in all it could've been a lot worse.

For some of the involved parties, the worst was yet to come.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Most Halo fans know this stuff, but some don't and so here's some clarification on those darn "MA's" and "M6's".**

**MA37/MA5 – Assault Rifle from **_**Halo: Reach**_

**MA5B – Assault Rifle from **_**Halo: Combat Evolved**_

**MA5C – Assault Rifle from **_**Halo 3**_** and **_**Halo 3: ODST**_

**M6G B Variant – Magnum from **_**Halo: Reach**_

**M6G C Variant – Magnum from **_**Halo 3**_


End file.
